To my husband and kids:
Yes, I just ate some chocolate, and no, I’m not telling you where I keep it.
While I’m on the phone, I do have one apparently unused ear, but I still cannot listen to two different conversations.
I can usually find what you’re looking for, but don’t ask me about it while I’m on the phone.
Watching you play and hang out together is one of my favorite pastimes.
That “S” on my cape doesn’t stand for Supermom or Superhousekeeper. It stands for “Sleepy.”
To my kids:
Your relationship with Jesus Christ is the most important thing in life. I cannot comprehend how He can love you more than I. Perhaps He loves you better.
Refrigerator handles and kitchen drawers are better if they are not sticky.
It thrills me when I see you being kind to each other.
Someday I will come to your houses and ask you what’s for dinner. Everyday. Multiple times a day. And I will bring my laundry.
Whatever God leads you to do with your life is fine with me. Just make sure you listen to Him.
To the world:
Yes, they’re all mine.
Yes, my hands are full—and so is my heart.
Things will go better for you if you don’t mess with my kids.
I will teach our kids to love you and lead you, but not to join you.
It will always amaze me that there are seven people in this world that call me Mom. And that we have a table big enough for all of them.
It awes me that you would entrust these human beings to our incompetent leading. Thank you for carrying the lambs in your arms and gently leading those that have young.
It is because of your grace that my husband and I still claim each other.
I trust you to multiply our efforts and fill in all our parenting gaps.
It is because your mercies are new every morning that I face each day with joy and anticipation.
Remind me that the refrigerator handles and kitchen drawers won’t always be sticky. And that someday too soon I’ll wonder why I thought it even mattered.
Teach me how to love like you love and give like you give. Forever, unconditionally, and boundlessly.
Thank you for the awe-inspiring, growth-inducing, heart-expanding privilege of motherhood.
Janice Powell 2013